


Need You Here

by denkiisbestboyo



Series: Downhill (Dream SMP/Sleepy Bois Inc.) [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Fundy just needs a dad, Gen, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denkiisbestboyo/pseuds/denkiisbestboyo
Summary: He misses Wilbur so much it aches sometimes. Usually late at night, when he can’t sleep and the memories of seeing his father and uncle tearing away from the podium as Schlatt ordered anyone armed in the vicinity after them, or the explosions under the van and the dead eyes of Dream’s mask keep him awake. He’ll lay in bed and try to remind himself of the good things - the smell of flower fields, the gentle strum of a guitar coming from the kitchen, the smell of meat cooking over the fire.It worked sometimes. Other times, Fundy would lay awake for hours, just listening to the sounds of Manberg around him. Everything was louder without the walls muffling the noise from the forest, and the flap of the flag in the breeze was gone.It didn’t feel like the same place anymore.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Eret, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Series: Downhill (Dream SMP/Sleepy Bois Inc.) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029396
Comments: 20
Kudos: 190





	Need You Here

**Author's Note:**

> just some more dream smp angst

There’s a mirror propped up against the wall in Dad’s room. It’s tall and thin, and Fundy only takes up the bottom of the frame when she looks at herself. So much empty space reflected above her head looks wrong and unbalanced. She thinks this is an accurate reflection. 

Fundy grabs the end of her tail, small fingers clutching the fur as a form of comfort. The skirt itches around the waist and makes her look like a princess from the books Dad read to her at night. Fundy had never really liked the princesses in the books. They were always boring and obsessed with finding true love instead of ruling their kingdoms, and they always needed someone else to save them. She had never identified with them, even though she was a girl, and was supposed to. 

Fundy didn’t particularly want to be a girl. It felt unbalanced and wrong when she thought about growing up and becoming a woman, a mother and then a grandmother. It was much easier to picture herself like her father - a guitar on his back and his cap on his head as he adventures around the land, singing to the wind.

Fundy wants that.

She sits down in front of the mirror - mindful of her tail - and begins to unbutton the skirt. The buttons are small and hard to work with when her claws are this long, and it’s easier to rip them off than try to pry open the little holes in the fabric to slide them through.

The skirt is in tatters on the floor when her dad walks in. 

“Fundy, what are you doing?” He says, kneeling down next to her. His brow is furrowed as he picks up the shredded fabric, and for a moment, Fundy worries that he’ll be mad. 

She can feel a lump forming in her throat when she speaks. “It was itchy and I don’t want to be a girl.”

Dad pauses, and the ripped fabric slips through his fingers as he turns to look at her. “What do you mean?” 

Fundy pulls up the hem of her shirt to show him the red marks from where the fabric irritated her skin. “Look, it was scratching me and I’m all itchy.”

Dad laughs, and runs a hand over the red marks. “Yes, I see that. I meant about you not wanting to be a girl.”

Fundy drops her shirt. “I want to be like you. I want to be a boy, and grow up to be a man and go on adventures with Uncle Tommy and Tubbo.”

There’s a strange look on Dad’s face, and he starts gathering up the ripped shreds of the skirt again, sweeping all the strings and fabric into a pile on the floor. He eases Fundy’s shirt up over her head as well, and drops it on the floor before going over to his closet. 

Fundy looks over herself in the mirror. Her hair falls over her shoulders, the same tawny auburn color as the fur on her ears and tail. Her nails stretch into claws, and her pupils are thinner than Dad’s, and amber. There are some similarities between her and her father though - they have the same laugh, and the slope of their noses are similar. 

Her vision cuts out when something warm and soft drops over her head. She swims through the fabric for a moment until her head pops out of the hole in the top of the shirt. It’s one of Dad’s sweaters, and the sleeves are too long. Dad rolls them up until her hands are visible with careful fingers. 

“Pants.” Dad says, holding out a pair of his own trousers. Fundy stumbles a little putting them on, but Dad helps with a steady hand, rolling up the legs until Fundy can stand and finding a shoelace to serve as a belt. The trousers are massive, but you can barely see them underneath the sweater. 

The final touch is Dad’s cap, taken from his own head and dropped onto Fundy’s. The hat is too large, and it falls over her eyes, so she lifts it out of the way to look in the mirror again. 

Her body is obscured by all the baggy fabric, and she looks like Dad. A grin spreads over her face, and she locks eyes with Wilbur through the mirror. 

“Better?” He asks. 

She nods, turning around to wrap her tiny arms around his thighs in a hug. “Thanks Dad.”

He ruffles her hair with a faraway smile, the one he gets when he’s thinking about mom.

* * *

Fundy keeps the hat. He holds onto it, even when the brim starts to fray and it’s threadbare from constant wear and use. There’s something about it that makes him feel like a man even on the worst days. And of course, that it was a gift from Wilbur.

Somehow, that’s starting to matter less though.

It’s starting to feel like Wilbur isn’t coming back to L’Manberg. It’s been weeks, and the leather-bound journal he’s been using to keep track of Schlatt’s moves is nearing completion. He’s going to have to find another one if this keeps up.

Fundy closes the journal and tucks it back away in it’s secret hiding place - in the false drawer in the bottom of his desk, underneath stacks of financial records and other archived things, where no one would think to look for the diary of a spy. The hiding spot has moved a few times since the election, but no one suspects Fundy either way. He’s been careful - when Wilbur comes back, the information he’s gathered is going to be useful. 

If Wilbur comes back. 

Fundy sinks into an armchair by the fire and watches the flames dance. He hasn’t heard from his father in weeks. Nothing. Not even some cryptic message, even an indication that he’s even alive. He’s seen Tubbo disappearing now and again, and knows that there’s something going on, but no one has reached out to him. 

Not even his own father.

He misses Wilbur so much it aches sometimes. Usually late at night, when he can’t sleep and the memories of seeing his father and uncle tearing away from the podium as Schlatt ordered anyone armed in the vicinity after them, or the explosions under the van and the dead eyes of Dream’s mask keep him awake. He’ll lay in bed and try to remind himself of the good things - the smell of flower fields, the gentle strum of a guitar coming from the kitchen, the smell of meat cooking over the fire.

It worked sometimes. Other times, Fundy would lay awake for hours, just listening to the sounds of Manberg around him. Everything was louder without the walls muffling the noise from the forest, and the flap of the flag in the breeze was gone.

It didn’t feel like the same place anymore.

* * *

Strangely, it’s when he’s with Schlatt that Fundy starts to think that Wilbur might have been a bad father. 

As much as Schlatt is loud and brash and rude at times, he has a plan and knows how to lead. He’s someone you can count on, and someone who counts on others. He has a way with words, and when he praises you, you feel good about yourself. He’s stable, something Wilbur never was. 

He’s sitting with Schlatt, overlooking the plans for Manberg, when Schlatt pauses mid sentence and looks up from the maps spread out on the table in front of them. Schlatt looks up from the map and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing. 

A breeze sweeps across Fundy’s face and tousles his hair. It smells like summer rain, and he looks up at the sky. There are clouds rolling in from the west, heavy with rain. It’s good, they could use some. Parts of the ground where the walls used to be are still bare and dry. 

“Let’s put a pin in this and take a break.” Schlatt says, opening his eyes again. 

Fundy glances back down at the maps in front of them. “Are you sure?” They’d been making good progress, plotting and zoning what projects would go where, and where to set the new borders of the country now that Schlatt wants to expand. Already, he’s done more than Wilbur had ever even dreamed of, and as much as Fundy hates to say it, Manberg os all the better for it. 

“Yeah.” Schlatt says, looking down at the maps and papers as well. “We’ve made good progress, and we should probably roll all this up before it starts to rain anyway.” 

So they roll up the maps and tote them back to the white house, and it’s not a moment too soon, because the sky opens up and the rain comes down in sheets, but somehow, the sun is still bright and shining, making the rain look like angelic tears coming down from the heavens. 

Fundy leans up against the ledge of a window and watches. 

“A sunshower.” Schlatt says, coming to rest next to him. There’s a faint smile on his face. “I haven’t seen one of these in a while.”

“Is that what it’s called?” Fundy asks, captivated by the rain. “I’ve never seen one before.” 

“They’re rare.” Schlatt explains. “Some meteorological phenomena or something.”

They watch the rain in silence for a moment. It’s peaceful, and for the first time since the election, Fundy feels completely at ease. Something about this sunny strom is centering - perhaps that it’s an odd occurrence. Even nature knows that Manberg is an anomaly; a stolen jewel.

An orphan, lost and adrift.

“You know, you did a really good job with the walls.” Schlatt says, breaking Fundy’s train of thought and his concentration on the rain. He makes eye contact with Schlatt through the reflection in the window, and there’s a small smile playing on Schlatt’s lips. 

“Oh.” Fundy says. “Um, thanks.”

“It looks so much better, don’t you think?” Schlatt says, turning his gaze back to the window. “You can see so much farther.”

Fundy supposes there’s something to that statement - the fields and forest beyond Manberg stretch out before them uninterrupted, and there’s a beauty in the fact that you can see all the way to where the sky meets the earth. But there was a sense of comfort in the walls, and knowing they were protecting you, even when you weren’t looking. 

Fundy just shrugs. 

As quickly as the shower started, it stopped, all the rain suddenly trickling out into a light mist of moisture in the air. The only sign it ever even rained is the puddles on the ground, and under the intensity of the sun, those will soon be gone too. 

Schlatt straightens up, clapping Fundy on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, kid.” 

Fundy sits at the window for a moment longer, the imprint of Schlatt’s hand and his voice curling around the word ‘kid’ rolling through his mind.

* * *

The version of Schlatt who claps Fundy on the shoulder and calls him kid doesn’t last long. He starts yelling at Quackity and slams his fist on the table when he’s angry and drinks when he's not. Manberg is great, but then it’s stagnant, and it’s the perfect time for Wilbur to come back, so he does. 

It’s… relieving, in a way. 

It’s easy to slide back into the way things were, when there were still walls and the flag still hung over the van. Niki and Tubbo join the effort as well, and it’s just like the old days and they’re going to fight Dream again, but now they have Technoblade and his gear on their side so it’s better. 

Uncle Technoblade has gathered what seems like every bit of valuable armor and weaponry in existence, and it’s terrifying until Fundy remembers that they’re on the same side. He takes what he feels he’ll need from Techno’s bunker, and then since his gut tells him he’s about to die in this war, he takes some more. He’s stocking up on arrows when Wilbur comes up beside him. 

Fundy hasn’t been within a few feet of Wilbur for months. The warmth that he remembers isn’t really there anymore, but maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that they’re going to fight for L’Manberg back and now’s not exactly the time for fatherly affection. 

Wilbur rests a hand on his shoulder, almost exactly where Schlatt had put his hand all those months ago, and he smiles. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Fundy smiles thinly. “It’s good to see you too, dad.”

Wilbur straightens the lapels on Fundy’s jacket and then he straightens the brim of his hat, smiling because it’s the same hat still after all these years. “You stopped shaving.” He notes. 

Fundy brings a hand up to his chin, where there’s a few wisps of darker auburn hair. He stopped taking care of it so much when he started taking care of Manberg more in Schlatt’s decline, and now it’s a little scruff of a beard. 

He doesn’t think Wilbur’s ever seen him with facial hair.

“Yeah… I just stopped bothering so much… I don’t know.” Fundy says. 

Wilbur gets a sort of soft and pensive look in his eyes, and he runs his hand down Fundy’s arm before squeezing him on the shoulder once more, and going off to see what Tommy is screaming about over in the other part of the bunker. 

He doesn’t see Wilbur again until he’s battered and bruised and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that keeps dripping blood but they won, and Wilbur’s on the podium and things are right again. 

Fundy sinks into one of the remaining benches. They won. Schlatt drank himself to death, Dream surrendered and they won. 

It doesn’t feel like he thought it would. 

Maybe it's the way Schlatt died that holds him back from total relief. In the van, surrounded by friends and enemies alike, Schlatt had still died alone, a shell of the man he once was. The man who had set his hand on Fundy's shoulder and told him he had done a good job was long gone, replaced by a drunk tyrant who had the audacity to insinuate that he was more of a man than Fundy. He knew it was false, but the blow still stung. A reminder from when he had confided in Schlatt only for his darkest fears to be used against him in the end. 

He doesn't want to think about it too much, lest he start feeling remorse for the man's death.

The air tastes like smoke and there’s rubble from where Dream lit off explosives, but for the most part, things are okay. He closes his eyes for a moment, and lets the adrenaline drain from his body.

Everything hurts more now, but it’s okay because they won, and Wilbur’s on the podium again-

“Fundy.” 

Fundy opens his eyes. He’s not on the podium, he’s next to him on the bench. The ends of Wilbur’s hair are singed but there’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there when they spoke before. 

“Dad.” Fundy says, and he leans into the touch when Wilbur puts his arm around his shoulders. For a moment, it’s like he's five again, and they’re back in the house he grew up in. The smoke in the air melts back into the smoke from the fireplace, and the bench turns into the armchair and Fundy exhales and closes his eyes again.

“Why’d you give it to Tubbo?” He asks. 

He can feel Wilbur shift next to him. “It’s better that way.”

“But you care so much about the fate of the country.” Fundy says. “It makes sense for you to be president-”

“It’s just better.” Wilbur says. “For the future.”

Fundy just rests his head on his father’s shoulder and doesn’t argue.

* * *

Maybe he’s getting used to the smoke in the air because he doesn’t even sense the change when the bomb behind the podium detonates and causes him to fall to his knees when the ground shakes and splits open. Fundy doesn’t know what’s going on.

He pulls himself to his feet and ignores the ringing in his ears as he starts to move, running toward Niki, who’s crumpled on the ground in a heap. He lifts her up by the armpits and makes sure she’s okay. She’s saying something but he can’t hear until his ears pop and then-

“Fundy move!” 

Niki yanks them out of the way and a fireball hits the ground where they had been standing. He can hear screaming, and some otherworldly screeching and when he looks up to the sky, there’s clouds of black smoke and between them, Withers. 

He counts eight. 

“Niki.” Fundy grabs her by the shoulder and reaches into the pocket of his revolutionary jacket to pull out a healing potion and press it into her hands. Her fingers curl around it. “Take this, I have another, I’m going to find Wilbur.”

“Fundy-wait-”

Niki reaches for him, but he’s already taking off, sword drawn in case one of the things tries to swoop down at him, dodging through the chaos. He needs to find his father. 

It’s unclear where the monsters came from, but he can see the huge crater in the ground from the explosion, and figures that if he can just climb up, he’ll have a better vantage point to scan the ground and pick out Wilbur-

But no. As he’s getting ready to scale the wall, he sees Wilbur heave himself up from the ground, that same light in his eyes. It’s not warm at all. 

It’s manic.

“Dad-!” He shouts it, but Wilbur doesn't hear him because he’s talking to someone else. 

Philza. For some reason, his grandfather is there as well. 

Wilbur is clutching onto Phil’s shoulders, and he’s shouting but Fundy can’t make out the words. Phil hugs his son close, and Wilbur rests his face in his father’s shoulder. It’s tender for a moment, but then Phil draws his sword and drives it through Wilbur’s chest, and Fundy wasn’t able to hear what he was shouting, but he can hear the thud as Wilbur’s body hits the ground and Phil’s sword slides from his corpse.

“Oh god.” Fundy croaks.

Phil doesn’t even look as he leaves his son’s body on the cliffside and swoops down into the chaos below. 

* * *

This Wilbur is not the same as the man who raised him. 

Fundy moves his pawn forward a space and waits for Wilbur to make his move. He takes a moment to think, semi-transparent fingers hovering over the chess board. 

Fundy has had a lump in his throat since he sat down. He hates that Wilbur always makes him sit in the armchair. He hates that they play the same game of chess over and over and over again, every time he comes to visit. He doesn’t even know why he comes anymore. Niki insists that he should, and that being there will help bring the old Wilbur back, but it’s no _doing_ anything-

“Your move.” Wilbur smiles and moves his rook, finally.

“Wilbur,” Fundy says, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Wilbur leans forward to rest a hand on Fundy’s shoulder, the same place where Schlatt had put his, and the old Wilbur had put his. “Are you feeling alright Fundy?” 

He doesn’t call him son anymore. 

“I can’t do this.” He says it more to himself and sits up, looking at the ghost of his father. “You were a shitty dad.”

Wilbur looks taken aback. “Fundy-”

“No,” Fundy cuts him off. “I need to say it. You were a really shitty dad. You were so obsessed with L’Manberg that you didn’t even bother to raise me, and you didn’t care that you left me in Manberg after the election, and I feel like the only reason you even talk to me is because you needed help to get the goddamn country back!” He’s shouting now, and Wilbur looks vaguely frightened. 

“You haven’t even acknowledged what you did, either!” Fundy shotus. “You blew up L’Manberg because you just _felt like it_ . Hate to break it to you Wilbur, but L’Manberg isn’t _yours_. And it never was.”

Wilbur blinks once, and Fundy sits back down. “If you don’t mind, Fundy, I think this discussion is better suited for another time-”

“I hate you.” Fundy says, ripping himself out of the chair again. “I hate you.” He grabs his coat and his hat and he leaves because he can’t handle that right now. 

He jams the cap on his head and bunches his fists in his pockets and walks out into the rain, pretending he’s not crying.

* * *

Of all the people that he could seek solace in, the last person Fundy would’ve picked was Eret. 

He was a traitor. He led them down into a room and detonated a bomb, and it was a miracle that they even made it out alive, much less won their independence. He sided with Dream, and was king of the SMP - the land that L’Manberg was in direct opposition of. 

How Fundy ends up crying on his shoulder is a mystery. 

Well, not really. He’d needed to get out of New L’Manberg, so it was a short walk outside the city perimeter that brought him to this cliffside. It was a nice view overlooking a river, and every now and again, Fundy would spy a salmon jumping out of the water to catch something to eat. 

Eret sitting down beside him wasn’t completely unwelcome. 

“It’s a nice day.” Eret had led in. 

“It is.” Fundy had agreed. 

And they’d talked about nothing for a while, speculating about construction efforts and Tubbo’s presidency and Schlatt’s funeral. The funeral was the breaking point - Fundy hadn't let himself cry there, but he could only hold back the tears for so long and now they're rolling down his face and dripping onto the cap he set in his lap when he sat down. 

"Fundy?" Eret asks. "I'm sorry for saying anything; are you alright?"

Fundy wipes the tears from his cheeks but they keep coming now that the floodgates are open. Everything he'd bottled up and shoved aside is bubbling to the surface and forcing their way around the lump in his throat and all of a sudden it's about more than Schlatt, it's about how Wilbur left him in L'Manberg and how he kept hoping his dad would come back for him and how he risked his life for his father's country without so much as a thank you and how now, after death, Wilbur didn't even care about him-

Eret rwaps an arm around Fundy's shoulders, gently pulling him in to his side and laying Fundy's head on his shoulder. Fundy curls into the contact, pressing his face into the fabric of Eret's jacket and just letting the tears roll. 

"I'm sorry." Eret says again. 

"It's not your fault nobody wants me." Fundy mumbles.

He doesnt think he hears him until Eret sighs, and rubs Fundy’s arm. “Believe me I understand.”

Fundy picks his head out of Eret’s shoulder, one eyebrow raised quizzically. 

Eret’s free hand comes up to his glasses, and he pulls them down, peering over the edge. His eyes are completely white, and looking into the milky depths, Fundy can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“Oh.”

Eret puts his glasses back on. “I try not to think about it too much.”

Fundy leans back into Eret’s shoulder, and focuses on the river below them. “I’m sorry.” 

Eret lets out a soft chuckle. “Believe me, you have it worse than me.”

Fundy doesn’t want to admit that he’s right. The tears rise behind his eyes again, and he presses his face back into Eret’s coat because _god_ he just needs his dad. 

He’s not going to get him though, because the hat is falling apart, and Wilbur is dead.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're looking for all the songs the works in this series are named after, you can find them here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SH0cK8u1GaIPPSyokAEm9


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